


oikawa tooru is destined for greatness

by mooshys



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen, but mainly seijoh 4 friendship, four dudes eating ramen what could go wrong, kind of a character study for oikawa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:27:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28888344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mooshys/pseuds/mooshys
Summary: An eventful night at a ramen restaurant humbles Oikawa, and the rest of the Seijoh third years are there to witness his blunder.
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro & Matsukawa Issei, Iwaizumi Hajime & Oikawa Tooru
Kudos: 33





	oikawa tooru is destined for greatness

Oikawa Tooru is destined for greatness. 

That's what the universe decided when he first walked into his local recreational gym and fell in love with the way the leather of a volleyball felt between his hands. It was the first spark, the flint to a fire that continues to burn within him to this very day; his love for the sport is undeniable and he continues to fan the flames, never allowing for the embers to burn out.

He is exceptional for this.

And all his friends think it too: they know he is special and find themselves gravitating towards him. Like meteors and planets and stars alike, Oikawa pulls people closer to watch all he is and all he will be because they know sooner or later he’ll be on the grandest stage, defying all limitations and pushing past preconceptions he placed on himself.

But for now, they don’t want it to get to his head, so they make sure to humble him whenever the chance arises.

The night started like any other: a regular ramen date between four dudes after spending the better part of the afternoon together practicing for hours on end. Nothing unusual or particularly noteworthy until Oikawa opened his mouth to order his share. Now, after signing a rather lengthy waiver, a monstrous Godzilla sized bowl with handfuls of chili peppers swimming in the broth sits on the table, looking more threatening than appetizing. Weirdly enough, Oikawa’s grinning so hard that Hanamaki is afraid he’s going to strain his face. He kind of looks like the Joker, but without all the makeup.

(Which means Iwaizumi would be Batman, and Hanamaki thinks this is really fitting because he would totally rock a Batman suit. And maybe the voice too. He’d have to bring it up when Halloween rolls around.)

All eyes are on Oikawa, and the rest of the guys certainly aren’t looking at him in reverence.

“Dude,” Matsukawa starts. The smell of whatever near illegal grade spice the kitchen spiked into the soup is almost noxious. “Can’t we have a normal dinner together? Just once?”

“This is normal!” Oikawa says back as he reaches his hand over to the chopstick container on the side. He picks up four pairs and hands three of them to his friends who silently mumble out their thanks, eyes still fixated on the Ramen Bowl From Hell. They’re more focused on the what-will-be state of Oikawa’s gut after this. “I’ve always had a big appetite, so how could I pass this up?”

Iwaizumi narrows his eyes at his best friend. “By saying no?” he replies, not amused at all by the situation. Oikawa didn’t even like spicy food, so having him eat three servings worth of it in one sitting was ridiculous. “Why the hell would you even order this?”

Oikawa shrugs his shoulders in response. He knew that whatever he said to Iwaizumi wouldn’t be a sufficient enough answer, so he decided to keep his mouth shut. Even then, Iwaizumi ends up landing a blow to the side, scolding him for acting like a grade A dumbass. And, like always, Oikawa makes an accidental backhanded retort which only results in a harsher beating.

While the two continue on their usual routine, Matsukawa shakes his head and then allows his eyes to wander to the cork board hanging on the wall directly facing him. There are various pictures of people who succeeded the challenge Oikawa is currently attempting pinned up, their smiling faces staring at him as if to say, “Hey, this could be you!”

And then he notices an oddity.

It’s a familiar face where he’d least expect it. Handsome as ever with his chiseled features and neutral visage, Ushijima Wakatoshi was pinned up on the wall holding up an empty bowl the size of a standard wok. The _same_ bowl that currently sat in front of Oikawa.

Figures.

“Are you doing this ‘cause of Ushiwaka?” Matsukawa bluntly asks. 

The table goes silent. Oikawa pales when Matsukawa points to the cork board that has Ushijima’s picture pinned up and that terrible, terrible pride of his dictates him to open his mouth and lie.

“O-Of course not!” His words are shaky and he gives an awkward chuckle. He can tell no one is buying the act, but he’s still keen on giving them a performance. “Who cares about that Ushiwaka bastard?”

Another pregnant pause. Iwaizumi looks straight up pissed while Hanamaki is trying his best not to laugh, his shoulders trembling and his bottom lip gone as he bites it to control himself. Matsukawa is the only one who maintains a perfect poker face as he stares at his friend from across the table, waiting for an answer. The accused slumps and crosses his arms in front of his chest like a toddler refused of a Happy Meal on the way back home.

“Alright, fine,” Oikawa grumbles. “I saw that bastard on the board. Happy?”

No one responds. Instead, the rest of the Seijoh boys simply give their thanks and dig into their own bowls of ramen. Another day, another Oikawa antic is the collective thought.

Dumbstruck, Oikawa mumbles out his thanks and stares at the broth in his own bowl. It’s thick and the color of crimson, so dark and frightening it looks as if dragon’s blood was dumped in. The smell has him nearly pinching his nose (which he doesn’t because it’d be insulting to the kitchen staff) and, upon initial whiff, has the potency to make him tear up. He’s sure that one sip of this stuff is similar to dropping a nuke in his intestines.

“Well, are you gonna eat it?” Iwaizumi asks in a gruff manner as he digs into his own bowl of ramen. Miso. Safe and delicious and the subject of Oikawa’s current longing as he stares at the steam rising up from the noodles Iwaizumi just picked up. “If you keep waiting around the noodles will get cold.” He pauses and then adds, “Dumbass.”

Oikawa snaps out of his trance and shakes his head. He knows that Iwaizumi can instantly pick up on his hesitancy, so he straightens up. “Yeah,” he says, steadying his hand to pick up his noodles. They’re coated red and his face morphs into that of horror for a moment before he pulls himself together. “I am, Iwa-chan!”

From across the table, Hanamaki wonders if he should pull out his phone and record Oikawa right now. For documentary purposes. And also for blackmail purposes when he wants to visit the café that sells really expensive desserts he can never quite pronounce correctly (mille-feuille is not pronounced as "milly-fuely" to his disappointment) across town and none of the other guys are willing to accompany him because the interior is too pink and sweet looking and they’d stick out like a sore thumb amongst the usual demographic. But mostly for documentary purposes.

He decides not to and instead settles on staring at him, talking slow sips of his own broth. (Tantanmen. Thick, nutty, and good for the soul.) It’s like dinner and a show except better because he’s got a front row seat and there’s never going to be a replay of this moment. Exclusive access, he thinks. Matsukawa seems to have the same idea in mind as he silently watches Oikawa, forcing himself not to blink because he doesn’t want to miss even a fraction of a second of the events about to transpire.

All the guys know that Oikawa isn’t going to back out from taking a bite because, when he’s off the court, he’s as predictable as they come. 

They all know Oikawa doesn’t like spicy food. This has been made apparent since day one of their friendship when the guys first shared lunch together and he teared up after taking a bite of the mapo tofu Hanamaki brought in his bento. They laughed at his horrible tolerance and kept this minor weakness in the back of their minds. On that same day, Oikawa also made it apparent for his gravitation towards sweets, boasting about the unique assortment of pastries from his local bakery. Often time, he’ll buy an extra sweet roll to share with his friends during lunchtime; he starts it off as a grand gesture at the last handful of minutes before classes start, persuading the guys to play a game of rock-paper-scissors over it. The thing is, Oikawa _always_ chooses rock as his first choice because he plays half-heartedly since he already ate the same pastry earlier in the day for his breakfast, but he still wants to be included in the discourse. He’ll act all whiny about losing, but then the next day comes and he chooses rock again, repeating the whole cycle.

Predictable Oikawa Tooru will never swallow his pride and back out of this challenge because he’s as stubborn as the rock he always picks during his lunchtime pastry tiff. Instead, he’s doing the exact opposite of what any sane person with his genetic taste bud typing would do and is going in for a bite of ramen laden with the sweet taste of death.

To others, such pride is worthless. They will say pride is a facade used as a means for others to put themselves on a pedestal. They will say that at the end of the day, whether or not Oikawa takes that bite, this will mean nothing. They will say this moment is trivial in the grand scheme of things and holding onto pride with an iron grip will only cause him to lose sight of what the rest of the world has to give to him.

He disagrees.

Because to Oikawa, pride is only worthless when it is empty, completely barren with nothing but cheap talk. Oikawa’s pride did not come from nothing, did not sprout from that ego of his without a proper foundation. His pride crawls like ivy and wraps around trellises to survive with roots traveling miles and miles underground. He can overtake a castle and he vows his vines will touch the sky, getting closer to the sun than Icarus can ever dream of. All while staying grounded.

And so, with his pride on the line and the noodles right in front of his lips, Oikawa takes a deep breath to prepare himself for the inevitable heat. Matsukawa and Hanamaki are at the edge of their seats as they watch, no longer interested in their own meals. They can hardly wait for the disaster that will soon strike. Iwaizumi, on the other hand, is the only one trying to be discreet, sending the occasional glance while finishing up his own bowl.

Finally, after much anticipation, he opens his mouth for the first bite.

And it only takes a second for Oikawa to finally regret his decision.

The spice blisters his mouth like new leather shoes worn without socks on a hot summer’s day. He can barely hold the mouthful in, his body violently twitching forward, trying to cough it all out to save his gut. Tears threaten to spill out of his already reddening eyes and he shakes his head in denial, as if saying that quitting is not an option right now.

He slurps another round of noodles as fast as possible and the fire continues to grow with every bite. The rational side of his mind wants him to stop. Hell, the innate animalistic side of him is currently triggering every warning signal, but that pride of his forces him to pick up more of the damn noodles and shove them into his mouth because speed will surely outweigh the pain he’s feeling.

(Which is, of course, wrong. Very wrong.)

By now, he’s still chewing on that second bite and the rest of the guys are staring in horror because Oikawa’s face is a sobbing, snotting red mess as he continues to eat as if he’s being forced to. It’s a sad sight and Hanamaki almost feels obligated to participate in charity work from initially laughing.

No one expected him to continue eating after the first taste. No one actually thought he would get this far. And now, he looks closer to making it to death’s door than making it to nationals.

Iwaizumi, the most rational of the bunch, decides to put an end to Oikawa’s misery.

“Give me the bowl,” he commands. “Quit eating that!”

Oikawa, through tears and running mucus, responds with undecipherable gibberish, lips swollen in a way that impede his speech. He sets his chopsticks down, ready to argue, but Iwaizumi lightly whacks him on the back head and then switches their bowls.

“Stop making yourself suffer. You’ll die if you keep eating this.”

Hanamaki and Matsukawa nod their heads at this, the latter sliding a napkin over so Oikawa can wipe his face dry. Upon seeing the concern etched on everyone’s face, Oikawa backs off and keeps quiet. 

If there is anyone else who knows even an inkling of Oikawa’s pride, it’s his friends. When he is reckless, they grab onto him, hold him back for a moment, and remind him to take care of his body, to not destroy what he has built and to instead carefully cultivate himself to continue his growth to the top.

He doesn’t argue and instead takes a sip from Iwaizumi’s bowl. Miso. Safe and delicious and what was once the subject of his longing. His shoulders relax and he lets out an almost wistful sigh. The rest of the guys chuckle at how easy it is to appease their hardheaded captain and go back to their meals. They eat in a content silence.

Thirty minutes pass and, funnily enough, Iwaizumi finishes the Godzilla inspired bowl from hell in record time, earning him a spot on the wall. There is no sweat or red or signs of struggle on Iwaizumi’s face after devouring the bowl unlike Oikawa's which makes Matsukawa wonder if Iwaizumi is an absolute unit or if Oikawa is an absolute wuss when it comes to spicy food. He brushes the thought aside and instead nudges Hanamaki about the bill since it was his turn to pay. They get into a short squabble, Hanamaki complaining about him ordering an extra side of gyoza while Matsukawa quickly snaps back about the five hundred yen he borrowed from earlier in the week. In the midst of their banter, a waitress reminds them that the table’s meal became free for finishing the Ramen From Hell which causes Hanamaki to cheer in joy.

When things finally settle, the manager of the restaurant comes up to their table to get a picture of Iwaizumi for the board of champions. Iwaizumi, after a short moment of contemplation, ends up choosing to have his picture taken with his friends to not only commemorate his victory, but to also act as a physical memento to accurately remember the events that transpired.

The Seijoh third years huddle together and pose for the camera. A flash goes off and the whirr of the polaroid being spat out commands for their attention. The manager shakes it and then hands it over to Iwaizumi to have a look. He smiles.

It’s a bit blurry, but Iwaizumi can clearly make out everyone’s features. Oikawa’s eyes are red and puffy, his lips pouted out as if still burning. From a single glance, it’s easy to tell he had just finished crying his eyes out. His smile is forced, yet he still somehow looks rather handsome. (Lucky bastard, he thinks.) Hanamaki and Matsukawa are holding up peace signs, both winking at the camera and acting as cheeky as possible because they know they’re going to look good in this picture. For himself, he has a half-crooked smile going, slightly proud of finishing the bowl while also a bit disappointed that he had to even eat it in the first place. 

He gives the okay for the polaroid and the manager pins it up on the cork board, right next to Ushijima’s picture. It’s horribly ironic and, from a side-by-side comparison, reminds Iwaizumi of their final middle school match, but he chooses not to bring it up. 

Oikawa is destined for greatness, but that day will come later. 

And when it finally arrives, the rest of the Seijoh third years will be damn ready to humble Oikawa and remind him of this night.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! I hope you're all taking care of yourself during these times. stay happy and healthy! <3


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